Food For Thought
by LoveHP
Summary: Snape observes something peculiar about Potter and strikes. References to past abuse.


Thanks to Brianna for the betaread.

**NNN**

**Food for Thought**

First Year

It was the day of the new term feast at Hogwarts. A loud buzz rang through the hall as students sat discussing their holidays, disgracefully inhaling their food.

Snape, however, had not touched his plate. His eyes were on the boy sitting with an unsure look on his face at the Gryffindor table. A boy too skinny and too small for his age, with the appearance and insufferable hair he had inherited from his father. Snape vaguely wondered why the Sorting Hat had taken so long to sort him, but that was history now.

He scowled, watching the boy, ignoring Quirrell's nonchalant stutter about his summer in Albania. Almost too calm, he thought. His concern was of a more pressing issue: Harry Potter.

Arrogant, insolent and bold… yes, Snape saw that all in front of him, wrapped up in Hogwarts robes. Just one look at the boy and he knew Potter would make his life miserable, but he was determined to make his worse.

It was then that Snape noticed something peculiar. Potter was sneakily removing a couple of meat pies and a bread roll from the table, placing them on his lap, and discreetly hiding them in his robes.

Interesting… Snape realised his eyebrows were sky-high. He relaxed them quickly, and jolted when the Headmaster started speaking.

Dumbledore made his almost embarrassing start of year speech. The students sang that dreaded Hogwarts song and off to bed the headmaster commands. The sea of students stood up, bustling about, waving goodnight to their friends and greeting others. Snape's eyes were still on one boy as he rushed off to bed with his newfound friends

For the next few days he observed the boy doing the same thing every evening: pocketing food.

If it wasn't for the boy's impertinence during his first Potions class, Snape might have been just a touch concerned, but he flicked it away like a bothersome fly. _Sorry Lily,_ he thought, _but your son is James Potter all over again._

Eventually Potter stopped hiding food that year; perhaps he realized he wasn't going to starve at Hogwarts.

Second Year

The waif was doing it again.

Pathetic, Snape thought, as he watched the boy slip a sandwich into his pocket whilst sitting in his dungeons.

Snape had been too livid at the thought of Weasley and Potter destroying the valuable Whomping Willow with their flying car to care that the boy looked thinner, and slightly unhealthier, despite having spent weeks at the Weasley's. Then there was the fact that the boys were saved from made Snape want to wring Potter's skinny neck, instead of question his eccentricities.

Third and fourth year were the same, continuing for a week or two each year. But in fifth year, it only happened three times and never again.

Sixth Year

Potter didn't do it.

That same routine from years past had escaped him this year. He didn't pocket any food, and for a moment Snape wondered—hoped— the boy had grown wiser.

Curious, Snape cornered him a few days into the new term. After dinner, he followed the boy, who walked silently, without his friends in sight. His head was bowed, and Snape wondered what the boy was thinking about.

"Potter…"

The corridor was quiet and there was a slight echo in his voice.

The boy froze in the deserted corridor and turned slowly, shoulders stiffening.

He was taller, and looked almost the same as his father, yet more handsome, more like Lily. He was growing up handsome and dark… though forever mediocre. But his eyes gave the boy a more ethereal quality Snape remembered from his mother.

_No wonder the girls are fawning over him… that and his celebrity. He could've given Black a run for his money,_ he thought, almost sick to his stomach.

But there was something in his eyes that disturbed Snape; it was as though there was a part of Potter missing since the death of his godfather and Diggory. He looks pinched, unhealthy, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. But why should Snape care, as long as he survived the war?

"Yes," he answered curtly, then adds with a hiss, "sir…?"

"Turn out your pockets."

The boy raised his eyebrows in bewilderment. "Why?"

"Ten points from Gryffindor for questioning a teacher." The boy looked outraged and Snape's heart fluttered in excitement. "Turn out your pockets. Now!" he commanded.

A furtive handful of first years tiptoed past and skittered off when Snape's eye turned on them.

Exasperated, Potter gave in, and turned out his robe pockets. He pulled out a handful of Weasley sweets, a quill, and his wand, but nothing that suggested he had stolen any food from the table that evening.

Snape circled him. He wanted to be sure the boy wasn't hiding anything behind his back. Potter's green eyes followed his every move, silent, scathing, almost murderous.

"What exactly are you looking for, Professor?"

"Food…"

His face was scrunched up in confusion. "I don't understand—"

"I've watched you pilfer food every year, Potter—"

"I've never stolen—"

"It doesn't matter! You took the food off the table and hid it, like a deep, shameful secret."

He paled, and Snape realized the boy looked like a deer struck by the headlights of a car.

Snape smirked, relishing the moment. Wrong, but so good.

"Why?"

The boy didn't answer. His mouth opened and closed for a minute and Snape grew impatient, hungry for an answer.

"That's none of your business!" Potter replied defiantly. He punched his pockets the right way in, before depositing his belongings in them once more.

Lip curled, Snape narrowed his eyes as the boy turned around and stalked off. "I've seen more than you think I have... I haven't told Dumbledore..."

The boy stopped suddenly, shoulders hunched now. The boy understood. Snape watched as Potter's hands morphed into white-knuckled fists. He faced him again, jaw clenched and eyes resolute with anger.

"You had no right—"

But Snape squashed him like an insect. "Just like when you saw my memories in the Pensieve?"

Ahh revenge, Snape savagely thought as he watched the boy writhe as his secrets were divulged.

"Cupboard under the stairs… barred window, tinned soup, unloved, locked away… almost starved…" Snape took a moment for the boy to digest the information.

He did not retaliate.

Any moment now, Snape wished. "And dare I say… beaten…"

"No I wasn't."

"Yes… you were!" Snape silkily attacked. "You told yourself it was okay, that you'd be all right, so you hid it well… quite well from everyone in fact... If only Dumbledore knew the true extent of your childhood… But I know…"

The boy chuckled to himself, head bowed, nodding. But there was no amusement, just dark resentment.

"Just like you," Potter dueled back, green eyes boring into black.

"You've just scored yourself another detention. Your father would be thrill—"

"Would your father be proud of you?"

His smirk hit back like an ironclad punch to Snape's stomach.

_No…_

"Another week's worth of detentions, on top of the others, Potter," he spat. "Get out of my sight!"

"With pleasure…"

With a slight bow and a flourish of his arms, he strode off.

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